Dancing
by WritingOnTheStars
Summary: They have been dancing together for so long that they don't even have to think about the steps.


At first it was clumsy. A twist, a kiss, misunderstandings. Unrequited love. That was the first big stumble.

That day on the train tracks when she tells him that she doesn't understand, doesn't know, doesn't fucking _know_ her own feelings, he thinks that the dance is over. It was bloody and violent and beautiful and horrifying, but it was their dance and it has been interrupted by her uncertainty. His vision blurs and he doesn't know if it's tears or anger but either way it fucking _hurts_, so he leaves. She isn't far behind.

* * *

><p>She is a dancer with two partners, and she doesn't know any of the steps and she didn't even want to get on the dance floor in the first place. They pull her and push her and she steps on their toes and feels horrible, but what is she supposed to do? It's in her nature – she stomps and scowls and she isn't meant to twirl and smile. That's for normal people.<p>

Gale pulls her with the force of a hurricane and she can't help but get caught up in the music that day that he kisses her. It felt right but it was so wrong that she stumbled and fell and ran away, as far away from him as she could. It was never far enough. He is fierce and she is fierce and their dance is harsh with poignant staccatos and heated eyes. It is familiar and uncomfortable and she doesn't want to try this hard because it was so much easier before he wanted to dance.

She pulls her knees to her chest and cries.

* * *

><p>They're pretending and it tears him apart – pretending to dance, but they're rooted in place, their limbs positioned awkwardly, and her eyes won't meet his. He doesn't really want to look at her, anyway, but her wants her to look at him. He needs her but doesn't want her but he does want her, and he sighs.<p>

He will save her again. She's the Mockingjay, she's the girl on fire, she's his dream girl, so he has to save her, even if he's pissed off and hurt. And then he comes to understand – it isn't that she can't dance, she just doesn't want to perform _their_ dance. And he realizes that it's been _their_ steps all along and he's so angry at himself for thinking that maybe he was moving on his own accord. Their music can't be stopped.

So he tries to trip them up – a wedding march. But the funeral dirge can be heard in the background and he grips her hand tighter and tries to block out the noise. She is here, right now, and they are standing still.

* * *

><p><em>tick tock tick tock<em>

Time is running out. Literally. She can't help but fall into step at one point, moving elegantly in a dance that she never knew existed. It is soft and quiet and soothing and his lips are on hers and she feels the swell of something inside of her as she twirls and pretends that she is a normal girl and he is a normal boy. Just for a moment.

She blinks and he is gone. Time has skipped and she is suddenly underground in District 13 and he isn't here. She left him in the middle of the most important part and she'll never forgive herself. Finding a dark, cramped place is the closest she can get to never thinking of that dance again, but it is all she thinks about as the pearl rolls around in her shaking hands. She sees his eyes and feels his lips and the heat of his hands, and she can't stop the tears. She remains silent.

* * *

><p>He tries to remember her. He really does. But all he can see are fangs and claws and blood and <em>her<em> eyes and he wonders how he ever thought about dancing with a mutt. At first he is just confused. The dance was nice, wasn't it? She wasn't like that. Not really.

But the images all become shiny and the dance turns into a battle, with harsh jabs and jerky movements, and he never wants to dance again, much less with _her_.

* * *

><p>She tries to keep going. She really does. She becomes their Mockingjay and hates herself most days, but it is about finding him so she won't complain. Much.<p>

The mission finally comes, and she can't go. It tears her apart and she hides inside of herself and tries not to see dead bodies, but they're everywhere and not even thinking about him helps. She writhes and cries and gasps but there is nothing to be done. Something seen cannot be unseen, after all. It is another scar to go with all the others.

* * *

><p>He wants to kill her. Dancing is out of the question.<p>

* * *

><p>Slowly his mind begins to clear. Some things are shiny and some things aren't. She is always shiny, but he is starting to doubt himself. Is she really a mutt? She doesn't look like a mutt, doesn't act like one, either. It makes his brain feel like it is splitting in half at the contradiction, and he can barely keep himself going.<p>

But he does. And eventually he understands what _they_ have done to him, what _they_ have done to all of them.

* * *

><p>She wants to kill Snow so badly that her arms shake in anticipation.<p>

* * *

><p>They go to the Capitol and they are dancing again, but it is awkward. Gale tries to cut in and the both of them don't really want to dance at all, especially right now, but the beat of their hearts drives them forward. He cries and begs for it to be over and she scowls, but he can see that she is just as broken as he is and it makes the hijacked part of his mind happy to see her so hurt.<p>

He takes a deep breath and tries to ignore his mind.

* * *

><p>She sees Snow. He is right in front of her. His words ring in her ears and the image of Prim being eaten by tongues of fire causes her hand to shake. The first real moment of clarity in months strikes her and she releases the arrow.<p>

And drives it straight into Coin's heart.

* * *

><p>He has finally come back. He isn't sure if he is ready, but he needs to be here, because this is the only place he can find himself. The first thing he does is look for her. Haymitch tells him that she hasn't left her house in months and without Greasy Sae she would have starved to death.<p>

He can't see her like this, because he can't be Peeta if she can't be Katniss. So he tries to remember what Peeta would do and decides to give her a gift. The physical labor is nice and lets his mind float away, forgetting that she is so close but so far until she actually speaks.

He can see her trying to remember what Katniss would do as she scowls and runs away after their exchange of words. It wasn't really a conversation. They aren't stable enough for that, he thinks.

* * *

><p>Having him back sparks her into life. She bathes and washes away months of neglect. Her scars are puckered and her burns are shiny and the water fucking <em>hurts<em> but she pushes through, because this is what Katniss would do, keep going, keep breathing. She didn't have to live, not really, not yet. Just move.

* * *

><p>She hunts and he bakes and they are starting to move together before they even realize that they have stood. Their days are intertwined and so are their bodies, so close but not touching, never touching. It was too soon. So he makes her cheese buns (because this is what Peeta would do) and she scowls while she cleans her caught game (because this is what Katniss would do) and they move to a beat that isn't steady and isn't sure but at least they're moving, right?<p>

* * *

><p>There are days when he screams and cries and locks himself in his basement. She sits at the door, her back against the wood, nibbling on cheese buns until the sound dies away. Then she waits patiently for him to reemerge, watching the sun rise and fall, because she has nothing better to do if he isn't around. When he pushes lightly on the door she scoots back and lets him come out. He is haggard and shaking and covered with dust, but she finds him so beautiful in that moment with the colors of the sunset playing across his features that she pulls him close. They touch, skin against skin, and they both silently realize that they have been dancing all along, but this is the real dance.<p>

The dance that is driven by the beat of their hearts. But they don't say it out loud, not yet. It isn't time.

* * *

><p>There are days when she doesn't get out of bed. She just lies and stares at the wall, hardly blinking, never moving. He finds her and crawls into bed behind her, pulling her back against his chest and pushes his nose into her hair and just waits. She is off by herself inside of her mind, and he understands that sometimes it can't be helped. They are both so horribly broken that sometimes the pieces just have to lay bare and jagged before they can try to put one another back together again. He presses his lips to her shoulder and watches the sky fade into night, letting his hand hang limply near her clenched fist. When she comes back her fingers lace into his, and he feels the long scar running down the palm of her right hand. Together they are a tapestry of scars and burns and he finds himself smiling, really smiling, for the first time in over a year.<p>

* * *

><p>They move through life like this, waiting patiently for the dance to change, because it is too important to rush. They finish another page in their memory book and he holds her hand, because this is normal now. She stands and stretches and pulls him up with her and they have a dinner of cheese buns and squirrel meat, because this is normal now. He follows her up the stairs, watching the slight sway of her hips, and follows her into her bedroom, where his clothes are stacked next to hers and his shoes are arranged next to her hunting boots, because this is normal now.<p>

And he looks at her and she looks back, and he sees that they are moving together. They'll never been whole but he thinks that they have found something better than when they were two unbroken people. They were shattered but they are rebuilding themselves every day. It can never be like it was, but now their pieces fit together, not perfectly, but it is comfortable and it is right.

So they come together at that moment. On a normal day. Just because the dance pulled them together, without explanation. She feels that undefinable thing swelling in her again and he can't even think as her tanned body shines in the evening light. The steps to this dance are clumsy and awkward and perfect, and they smile as they figure out the moves. His artificial leg impedes them a little but they quickly resolve the issue, and the dance becomes steamy and close and intense. They take their time and learn the movements slowly, and the grin never leaves his face and the flush never leaves her cheeks.

As they lay together on the tousled sheets and breathe in one another, he turns to her.

"You love me, real or not real?" Peeta whispers.

"Real," Katniss replies.

And the dance begins all over again.


End file.
